Sweetening Sins
by Mystical Authoress
Summary: Denizens of Hell have broken into Heaven, putting everyone on alert as these people from Hell are more dangerous than usual. Riff can't help but investigate strange things going on besides that, leading him to an odd new citizen of Heaven who is hiding a deadly secret. Why did something so sinful have to be so tempting...? But he's not the only one being tempted by sweetening sins.
1. Chapter 1

**Author note: I do not own Count Cain: Godchild or the film The Devil's Carnival:** **Alleluia!** **.**

 **This fanfic is heavily inspired by the soundtrack of the film 'The Devil's Carnival: Alleluia!' It may or may not also be inspired by the soundtrack of the film that takes place before it, 'The Devil's Carnival.'**

 **Warning: Heaven and Hell!AU, Heaven and Hell!characters, onesided RiffxCain, possible other various pairings, violence, cursing, more warnings will be put in if needed.**

 **As it's been FOREVER since I've written a Count Cain: Godchild fanfic, constructive criticism is REALLY APPRECIATED. XD I hope that you read, review and enjoy! XDDD**

 **Recommended listening for this chapter: "Down at the Midnight Rectory" from the Devil's Carnival: Alleluia! soundtrack.**

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 _ **Sweetening Sins**_

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 _1._ _Down At The Midnight Rectory_

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"Hey, Riff! Riff! Over here!"

Riff couldn't help but turn his head to see none other than Oscar sitting at a table with four plush chairs in the club as soft jazz music played in the background. Two other women were with the ginger-haired man—none other than Meridianna and Oscar's sister Emmeline, laughing and sipping from margaritas.

Riff sat with them quietly, smiling a bit. He felt a bit bad for being late. "Apologies for the delay," He managed, feeling his face heat up slightly from embarassment. "I got a bit carried away with some housecleaning and forgot the time."

Oscar grinned, handing him a glass of water. "Hey, it's okay. Meridianna, Emmeline and me just got here moments ago. The restaurant we were had some shitty service so we got held back a bit."

Riff grinned weakly, sipping his water and mentally telling himself to calm down already. He hated being late for anything. It felt embarrassing to him.

Meridianna elbowed him a little, giggling. "Hey, the mic is open now! Maybe you should sing, since you're the one who's late."

"Um..."

Riff wouldn't exactly call himself much of a performer. Being the Messenger, his job did not involve any acting or singing—just sending messages and packages to the citizens of Heaven. Then again, last time he participated in the open mic at the club, apparently he was a good singer...? At least, that was what Oscar told him, but Riff was drunk at the time so he wasn't exactly sure if Oscar was serious about that.

"Come on," Emmeline chimed in, "It's not like it's the end of the world. You can do it, Riff. Oscar told me that you sing pretty well!"

...So much for getting out of it.

Riff gave a sheepish chuckle. "Well, alright. I will. But," He looked to Oscar. "You have to join me, okay? I can only remember half the lyrics to 'Down at the Midnight Rectory' and I know that you know that song like the back of your hand, so help me out!"

Oscar grinned, the two getting up and going to the mic. "Okay!"

The music started in the background, and the next thing Riff knew was that he was singing, the words flying from his throat and creating the happy melodies. He wanted to get himself caught up in a good time and destress a bit before work the next day...

That was when his eyes met someone else's.

Riff was aware that yes, it was impossible to count every single soul in Heaven, but even he was sure that this soul was not a familiar one.

Green orbs (wait, did they have golden specks in them?) gazed right into his own eyes, and he blinked once, taking in the sight of the figure. Said figure was obviously a teen, seventeen or so Riff guessed, and he wore a motorcycle leather jacket over a dark grey shirt torn at the collar. Black jeans, dirt brown boots, and a long red scarf about his neck completed the look, and the teen continued to gaze at him, the faintest of smirks emblazing his lips as he pushed a strand of ravenous black hair out of his face.

He was beautiful, for a teenager. One of the pretty boys of Heaven, probably. But he was obviously a new soul, as he was drinking alone.

But something about this teen felt off. _Very_ off. Riff couldn't put his finger on what it was.

Was it the teen's odd outfit? Perhaps it was the smirk. Or maybe those gold-flecked emerald eyes—

"Riff? Hey, Riff?"

Riff blinked, turning quickly to see Oscar, confusion in his expression. "Hey, you okay?" Oscar spoke up, frowning. "You look a little confused."

"Uh," Riff quickly looked back to see the teen but he was gone, "I'm fine, Oscar. I think I'm just a bit tired." He managed.

Meridianna ran a hand through her blonde, wavy bob, looking at the clock. "It's getting pretty late, and it's a Sunday night. We should get home."

Emmeline blinked, her eyebrows furrowing as she closed her eyes, thinking, before opening them again. "Better not to go home alone, though." She added quickly.

Riff looked to her. "Wait, why?"

She gave him a look. "Don't you remember? Word has it that there are denizens from Hell running around and they haven't been caught yet! The Lord Hargreaves even gave a warning in today's sermon to not wander alone, especially in the evening because of them."

Riff winced. "Oh. Right."

Denizens of Hell were not supposed to be in Heaven. But sometimes the sinners would make their way out of Hell somehow, and cross into Heaven, only for 'The Lord' Alexis Hargreaves to send his forces to chase them out again. Occasionally, these sinners were dangerous, but usually they were only as so-called dangerous as the average man.

Apparently, though, the new intruders were even more dangerous than usual. Hence the warning and caution taking place.

Riff looked to where the teen was, before looking to the others. "We should go home."

Oscar grinned, holding up a bottle of gin. "Sounds good! I bought a few drinks, so we can all crash at my place for the night."

The blond man frowned, sighing. "Oscar, you know I have work tomorrow, and I have a package I need to bring to the Designer tomorrow morning by ten a.m. sharp, as well as a few other packages to bring to the Librarian Grifford as well as our fellow denizens of Heaven. I can't afford to be hungover during work."

Oscar shrugged. "Well, I'm not gonna force you. Do what you want, Riff."

"The Designer, Gladstone?" Meridianna groaned, throwing her hands up a bit. "You wouldn't believe how much he ratted me out for missing _one_ tiny seam in a dress this past Friday! I know he's so attentive but seriously? I don't get it at times. I still hate him for being so picky, even if the pay's decent."

Riff chuckled sheepishly. "Well, I do know he demands perfection in all of his works. I'm not surprised about it, honestly. But he and I are at least on decent terms if not friends."

Emmeline looked to him. "How in the bloody hell does _Cassandra Gladstone_ of all people get along with you? I thought he'd be too picky and uptight in my opinion."

Riff shrugged, grinning slightly. "It helps to be punctual when delivering all his stuff to his clients and all the material he needs. He could be worse, I think."

"Sooo," Oscar slung an arm about Riff's shoulder, "How about we all go crash now? As much as I'd _love_ to keep chatting about the Designer, I think it'd be great to get home."

Meridianna giggled, her grin wide. "Yeah. Let's go!"

Picking themselves up, the four made their way out of the club. Riff looked back behind him once, searching for the teen.

He'd be surprised to suddenly see the teen again, sitting at his table still as he sipped some alcoholic drink, smirking and watching him, gazing at him.

Riff decided right then that it was best to turn around, not look that teen in the eye and go crash at Oscar's place and _definitely_ drink. He figured it was best to forget about the sighting of the teen by morning. It wasn't something he wanted to deal with. Not right now.

In the back of his mind, though, there was a feeling that he'd have to deal with it sometime.


	2. Chapter 2

**Recommended Listening for this chapter: "Only by Design" from 'The Devil's Carnival: Alleluia!' soundtrack.**

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 _2\. Only By Design_

Riff woke up with a screaming headache and to the realization that he would be late to deliver the packages to the Designer if he didn't get up in a minute. He stumbled as he got up, changing as fast as he could, but his body seemed to be slow today. Probably from all the alcohol he had at Oscar's house. He regretted drinking, even if it was to forget...something. He couldn't remember what it was that he wanted to forget but he supposed that all the drinking probably helped for now, even if it did give him the worst hangover of his eternal living in Heaven.

Deciding it was best to just grab a quick coffee after delivering the packages to the Designer, he threw on his clothes, grabbed the messenger bag full of packages (thank goodness he decided to leave it here at Oscar's place so he could just pick it up and go do his job in the morning), and sprinted down the hallway after scrawling down a messy note for Oscar thanking him for letting him stay the night. Bolting out of the house, he nearly tripped down a few steps leading from the door before he made a sharp right, his legs carrying him as fast as he could, tripping once and falling flat on his face but managed to get up and keep going.

The smell of roses hit the air as soon as Riff entered the Designer's designated building. Soft, tinkling waltzy music echoed in the background, and workers were rushing about everywhere, sewing together beauteous dresses or working away at composing music or new sculptures. The Designer was in charge of the arts—fine arts, mostly, but some performing arts also.

A curtain in the back of the main hall opened, and out stepped Cassandra Gladstone, dressed in his elegant, fancy glory as always. Vanilla-scented cologne wafted through the air wherever he stepped, and he wore a clean white suit with a red tie to go with it.

"Hello," The older man crooned, laughing a little afterwards, beaming at the Messenger, who stood there awkwardly with his packages in the doorway. "Oh, don't be shy, Riff! Come in—" He held up an arm, gently grabbing Riff by the wrist and partially dragged him further inside. "It's been a while since I've seen you, so it's nice to see your face. Are you visiting, or...?"

Riff smiled faintly, holding up his package for Cassandra. "No, Gladstone, I'm not technically here to visit. I have this package for you..." He frowned slightly. "I don't know who it is from, though. There is no return address on it, unfortunately."

"A surprise, then?" Gladstone looked intrigued, taking the cube-shaped box from him and holding it, inspecting it quietly. "Fascinating. We should both look at it—"

That was when a young boy rushed into the shop, panting. "I-I'm sorry for being late—" He started, but Gladstone simply whirled around on the spot, glaring at him and shoving the box back into Riff's hands before walking straight to the boy.

"Leroy," The older man snapped, "You're late. _Late!_ For the second time in a row, too." He sighed, pointing to the clock. "It's nine-o-one. You're supposed to be at your desk working by nine, and you only just got here now? For shame, boy. And..." He got on a knee, inspecting the collar of the boy's plain white shirt. "I see a stain there." He snapped his fingers, and said stain vanished in an instant. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Leroy, the ashblond boy, winced slightly, lowering his head. Riff couldn't help but feel bad for him—he guessed that the boy must be a new employee. "I'm sorry, sir. I swear it won't happen again!" He whimpered, and Gladstone frowned, pulling away from him.

"Well, then," The older man's voice became ice, "Don't you dare be late again. And make sure that you take care of your clothing properly! I won't have it with not just you, but anyone else in here being so...dirty." He hissed. "Understood? Now go to work."

Leroy nodded, quickly walking through another doorway as Gladstone sighed, shaking his head and looking to Riff. "Apologies for the display," He spoke, making eye contact with the younger man. "Leroy's a new one here and he has yet to stay in line like the others. Mondays are never good days for me..."

Riff gave him a sympathetic smile as he handed Gladstone the package again. "It's alright, Gladstone, I understand. Mondays aren't exactly good for me, either..." He felt himself sway slightly, and he caught himself in time before he could tilt himself too far. Must be the alcohol's influence. "Ow."

The Designer's face contorted into worry. "Are you hungover from drinking, Messenger? I could get you coffee if you're not in a rush. I heard it helps."

The Messenger checked the clock. He had quite a bit of time before needing to deliver the next thing. "No, I'm not in a rush for now," He managed, nodding a bit. "Coffee would be wonderful, thank you."

"Good." He gently grabbed Riff's wrist, leading him to his office as he looked to Meridianna, who was sewing an sleeve onto a pretty white tailcoat. "Meridianna, darling, get Lukia to make me and the Messenger here cafe au laits. Riff here will especially need it."

Meridianna nodded, going to a younger woman wearing a neat, elegant kimono with long black hair as the Messenger and the Designer entered the office. It was the most disorganized place in the entire building, but at least the messes were somewhat organized so that they stayed in their respective corners (fashion and clothes in the far right corner, desk in the middle, paintings and scultpures to the middle left and so on). There was at least one neat part of the room, however, where there was a table for two set up neatly, knives and forks in place.

The two sat down at the table after Cassandra put the package down on the desk, sitting across from Riff just as the raven haired girl entered the room, gave them both their cafe au laits, and left the room as swiftly as she came.

"So," Gladstone started, picking up his drink and sipping a bit, "I saw you at the club last night with your friends."

Riff blinked. He hadn't seen Gladstone there. "You did?"

"Yes," The older man stated, smiling gently and taking another sip. "You were fabulous up there, singing your song."

"Um," Riff couldn't help but blush slightly, embarassed that the Designer saw him singing, "Thank you, Gladstone. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome." He then sniffed a bit, frowning. "Let me guess, you did drink too much, didn't you? I can smell it on your breath."

"Yes," Riff winced slightly, feeling his head squeal painfully, "I did. I saw this odd looking teen last night and I was trying to forget him. I guess it didn't work."

The Designer's eyebrow raised itself slightly in interest. "Oh? Odd teenager, you say? Didn't think you had a fascination for younger men, Riff..."

"Wha—no! I..." The Messenger stuttered awkwardly, unsure of how to make any sense of it.

Gladstone chuckled. mirth in his eyes. "Joking, I'm joking. But yes, I saw him also for a brief moment also." He frowned, all mirth disappearing as he took another sip of his drink. "He's an odd one. I heard some rumors about that person—they say he was a bad boy back in his old life. That he begged on his knees at the pearly gates of Heaven to The Lord Alexis to let him in. I think his name is...Cain, I'm not mistaken?"

Cain. So that was the name of that strange teen from the other night. Okay. It wasn't an odd name, but considering how the teen dressed last night, it sounded too elegant for someone who looked like he came from a motorcycle gang.

"Thank you, Cassandra." Riff responded, smiling a little as he sipped his own drink. He knew that Cassandra like it when he said his first name—there was a little light note of happiness that appeared in the older man's eyes when Riff said it. Riff was far more than aware that the Designer might be having some romantic sentiment for him, for some unknown reason. Maybe that was why he got so well along with Gladstone. "I appreciate what you can tell me."

"You're welcome, Riff," Cassandra seemed to purr, before he put down his cup and walked over to his desk. "I wonder what's in here—" He looked to Riff. "Mind if I take a peek now?"

Riff shrugged a little. "If you'd like to, go ahead."

The older man nodded, grunting slightly as his hands struggled briefly to remove the twine about the package, and then the brown wrapping paper. "Someone wrapped it up quite nicely, I'd say..." He muttered, before he finally took a penknife and cut through the wrapping paper to speed things up. Shoving that aside, it revealed a black box with an envelope taped to the lid.

"A present?" Riff inquired, standing and putting his coffee down before approaching the Designer, who seemed confused.

"Perhaps..." Cassandra muttered, before he removed the letter from the lid, opening up the envelope and taking out a note. "What does it say?"

 ** _You have not seen all the possibilities of creating something beautiful._**

The words were in some sort of gothic script, the words in red ink (or was it blood?). The Designer's growl of frustration brought Riff back to reality.

"How dare they insult my work!" He muttered, throwing the note down onto the desk after crinkling it into a little ball. "Have not seen all the possibilities of creating such beauteous pieces as mine? I won't have it! Whoever sent it must be some buggered ninny. Probably trying to prank me, the brute." He then looked to the box, drumming the tips of his fingers against the lid. "This still intrigues me, however. It makes me wonder what they have in there. Though—" He looked to Riff. "What do you think they have in there?"

Riff blinked, looking to the box, then to Gladstone. "My guess is as good as yours, Designer. I don't know."

Without another word, the older man removed the lid.

Within the box lay neatly folded fabric, strange, tiny black flowers emblazoned on a velvety blood red. Riff was more than sure that this kind of design had never appeared in the clothing shops of Heaven before. If anything, it seem to emanate darkness, blood...it seemed to breathe bloodlust, even.

"Beautiful."

The word escaped the Designer's lips, his eyes wide with complete awe. "It's...beautiful." He whispered again, the Designer and Messenger looking to each other and then the fabric. "I've never seen such a design before. I should find out who sent this. Maybe I could collaborate on a piece with them. But for them to freely give me this.."

Riff shook his head. What if...? "Gladstone, we don't even know who it's from. And this is so unlike any of your other fabrics you use. What if—" The warnings came to mind, "What if it came from a denizen of Hell?"

"Riff," Cassandra nearly glared at him, "What sort of denizen of Hell would freely give me fabric to work with? I don't expect demons from down below to freely give things to people. They're not that charitable. And I can't just pass up this opportunity. The fabric is _begging me_ to work with it! I can already envision a ladies' coat, or perhaps a silk vest for the men..maybe a tie or a bow for accessories." He chuckled slightly, a grin appearing on his face. "I have to work with it."

Riff could see that look in his eyes—witch's fire, brewing and boiling up something. Once Gladstone got onto something, it was near-impossible for him to stop it. "I'm not going to stop you, Cassandra. I just...wonder if it's best to be careful, with all the escaped ones from Hell being around here."

"I know." The older man sighed. "But one must take risks. Expand the boundaries, as they say. So I'll take the risk."

"Okay." Riff knew that Cassandra really didn't want to be stopped. "But...is it okay if I have an inch of that fabric? Just so I can take a closer look at it?"

"Well..." The older man frowned, but nodded, getting scissors out. "Alright. I'll give it to you, but after that I need to get to work. Apologies for cutting our time so short today."

"It's fine—" Riff looked to the clock again. "I need to get some packages to the Librarian soon, anyway."

"Grifford, you mean?" Cassandra frowned, handing him the fabric. "I doubt my brother will be in any good morning mood. Just thought I'd warn you."

"Thank you, Cassandra." Riff picked up his bag of other packages, as well as pocketing the fabric in his pocket. "I'll see you later."

"See you later, Riff." The Designer responded, smiling as Riff left the room.

The Messenger wasn't quite sure of what to think. The fabric...who was it from? Well, if anyone could track its source, it would be the Librarian. After all, Riff really didn't want to see his accquaintance (friend?) in danger. He really didn't want to see anyone in danger, for that matter.


End file.
